


Put me back on the map

by aphrodite_mine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So… you'd like to fix me?"</p><p>"I'd like to know if you're broken, first." Alana smiles, head tilted thoughtfully, pen at her lips.</p><p>"Oh, don't worry about that, Doctor Bloom. I'm as broken as they come."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put me back on the map

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloodandcream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/gifts).



> Thank you to K for the lovely, thoughtful and inspiring beta. To B for giving an enthusiastic thumbs up when I needed it.
> 
> *
> 
> This story contains non-graphic discussion of canon-typical violence.

Hannibal Lecter neglected to mention that Margot Verger is beautiful. 

She alerts Alana to her presence with the sharp rapping of knuckles on hard wood. Alana smiles beatifically and gestures to the empty room. Margot is hard lines meeting soft, dark hair and dark lashes against pale cheek. She shuts the door behind her almost silently, and settles, straight-backed, into the first chair she touches. It takes a moment, while Alana arranges papers and asks preliminary questions, but her scent eventually rolls across the desk and settles around Alana like a stilling breeze. Cinnamon and berries. 

Margot shifts and her lips purse. They're red, sweetness tinged with poison. She is Snow White, belly full of apple.

*

"You tried to kill your brother?"

"That's what your little slip says, doesn't it?"

"Margot, I'm not interested in a piece of paper. I'm interested in you."

Margot coughs out a brittle sound that may have once been a laugh. Alana can almost imagine it, years ago, at Christmas, perhaps. Like a bell ringing. "Doctor Bloom, you say that as though I've never heard that line before."

"But it isn't a line, Margot." Alana uncrosses and re-crosses her legs. "If all I cared about was paper, I'd take my paycheck and sign off." Hell, if all Alana cared about was paper, she wouldn't have taken Margot on in the first place. This is a personal favor to Hannibal Lecter, and where Hannibal Lecter is concerned, personal favors are few and far between. Over beer, he laid out the history of the case, inasmuch as he could. He chopped meat saying Mason's name, the dull sound of the knife hitting the cutting board the thing Alana remembers most about Margot's infamous brother.

"So… you'd like to fix me?"

"I'd like to know if you're broken, first." Alana smiles, head tilted thoughtfully, pen at her lips.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Doctor Bloom. I'm as broken as they come."

*

The next week, Alana leaves her notebook in the filing cabinet and slips her shoes off under her desk. "Let's discuss for a moment some other possible outcomes."

Margot is clearly offended. Angry, even. "As if I haven't, a thousand times. Doctor Bloom, I expected more from you."

"Bear with me, Margot."

Margot is silent for a long moment, the only thing indicating her live presence the steady tapping of one finger on her thigh, the occasional exhale. "Do you prefer red, or white, Doctor Bloom?"

"More of a beer girl to be honest, and you're derailing."

"Bear with me." The words indicate a gentle tease, but there is no trace of it on Margot's face. "You've had wine before, of course, in the professional sector." Margot gestures with that same tapping finger. More teasing. "Lots of toasts around lots of tables."

"You have me pegged." Alana is being strung along, she can tell. Enough years of psychotherapy reveals patterns in humanity. Evasion, stalling. And yet, she doesn't particularly mind.

"Enough swallows of wine you don't care for, and you'll still get drunk."

Alana is… half-following. "But you could be drinking beer."

"Sorry to inform you, but the tap's run utterly dry. No beer in this town."

There it is, the point. All of Margot's endings look the same. They don't have to. "There's always beer, Margot, you just have to keep looking for it."

*

"Where do you go when he hurts you, Margot?"

Margot looks away, then narrows her eyes, thinking. "If I could be somewhere else, Doctor Bloom, believe me, I would."

Alana smiles, the muscle movement gentle, her eyes soft.

"Oh, you know. I like to imagine a magical land where I am a mere peasant, perhaps a common milkmaid." Margot exhales, shrugging as she smiles, self-deprecating. "There is no tyrant king or tyrant lord." She fixes her gaze on Alana, and even across the room, Alana can feel the heat of it, the anger. "The only fantasies I have are bloody. How many times will I stab my brother until he can no longer speak? What sound will his flesh make when I split it with a blade? How far of a drop will render him senseless?"

If Alana is surprised by the outburst, the admission, she hides it well. After a long pause, she blinks, takes a breath and releases it. "Do these fantasies, these questions bring you peace?"

"As much as I ever find."

"Good. Good."

*

On what is to be the day of their final appointment, Margot doesn't show. 

As the hour slips past six, Alana struggles to stifle the feeling of dread in her stomach. Patients are late all the time. There are a thousand possible reasons for her absence, but all Alana can imagine is Mason -- a kind of monster, crowing over prey.

She goes home, and drinks a beer, her hand hovering the whole time over her phone, ready to dial. Not sure whether to call the police or Margot's cell.

*

Alana recognizes the knock and answers the door, somehow still surprised, still breathless to find Margot on the other side. She stands on Alana's front porch in sharp heels and skinny jeans, right arm in a sling. In her left hand, she holds a bottle of wine, which she extends. "A sort of apology for missing our appointment." 

It's morning; Alana is half-dressed in a blouse and pajama pants. "You were at the doctor?" Alana reaches out, barely touching the fabric of the sling.

"I was… indisposed."

Alana's jaw tightens. "Was it Mason, Margot?"

"I don't need to dignify that with a response, do I, Doctor Bloom?"

"You don't?"

"Aside from your question's rhetorical nature, we are in your home, and not your office. This meeting is off the clock."

"And highly unorthodox. And we aren't inside just yet."

"My _situation_ is highly unorthodox."

"It's true."

"You asked me, last week, if I still wanted to kill Mason." Margot releases a long breath. "I do. I would like to, very much. But I am afraid, Alana, that I've taken your counsel to heart. What will murdering Mason afford me, aside from fewer broken arms?" She lifts the sling in a shrug of a gesture, offering Alana a sad little smile. 

This question also seems rhetorical, and so Alana simply tilts her head, waiting for the answer, if in fact there is one.

"To be honest, the purpose of the wine is twofold."

"Is it?"

"There is… a function this weekend, and if I'm to get out of being Mason's chaperone for the night, I'll need a solid excuse or a date."

"And," Alana swallows, finding she needs to briefly brace herself with the door frame, "you're bribing me with alcohol in hopes of a favorable outcome?" Her voice is teasing, her heart beating loud in her ears. Alana takes the bottle and gestures Margot in. "Next time, just bring a six pack."

*

After serving Margot a cup of coffee and a slice of toast to mirror what Alana has already put down for herself, the two sit across from one another, taking quiet sips. 

"Why don't we discuss why you are here, with your psychiatrist, instead of on the doorstep of some…" Alana makes a vague inclusive gesture. "Young debutante. If you're keen on someone in the professional sector, a doctor, or even a nurse would be less… telling."

"Telling or not, there is a startling lack of pretty professionals in this town, Doctor Bloom, fewer still who might feign interest in a common milkmaid in the presence of the tyrant lord for a few hours. You are, forgive me, familiar with the dynamics in play. Tuesday would have been our final session. I don't think it is too far of a stretch to consider you a friend."

"Our relationship is strictly professional, Margot."

"You seem to have no trouble breaking the rules that are egregious to you. Break this one."

"Margot--"

"You are no longer my doctor, regardless of how helpful my sessions with you may have been. Vergers grow easily bored, Doctor Bloom, but I find you… curiously fascinating. The doctor/patient relationship, however, is played out. I would like to see you in another context."

"Margot--"

"You've already accepted the wine."

Alana shakes her head and smiles. "And I'm afraid no one will drink it unless I pour you a glass."

"Come with me on Friday, and I'll drink all the wine you've got."

*

The second time Margot arrives at Alana's door, Alana is expecting her. She's done her hair (curls, a low ponytail), raided her jewelry box for pearls, and attempted to mend the tiny tear in the hem of her navy blue sheath dress. The quick knocks come as Alana is slipping into kitten heels, leaning with one arm on the door frame. 

"Right on time," she says as greeting.

Margot nods, lowering her eyes and offering Alana a modest smile. "Quite possibly the only positive Verger trait. You look lovely, Alana."

Neither acknowledge the dropped _Doctor Bloom_ but Alana's eyes are bright. "Your dress is stunning." Alana feels slightly out of breath, eyes moving from Margot's dark lipstick to the metalwork that collars Margot's neck, is plated down her center and then encircles around her waist. The metal is seamless from what Alana can see, and the effect is more than a little intimidating. "Pretty fancy for a milkmaid."

Margot smooths the silky fabric beneath the metal piece and offers her un-damaged arm to Alana. "Every girl needs a suit of armor," she says, her voice more honey than poison. 

"And will you be brandishing me as a weapon, tonight?"

"I won't be killing anyone at the banquet, Alana. You're more of a coping strategy."

"That might be the most romantic thing anyone's ever told me."

Stopping short of the town car, Margot touches Alana's forehead, brushing the ghost of a stray hair. "I hope you'll allow me to break my own record, then." The world freezes between them, breaths caught. Margot could kiss her now, press her lips to Alana's. Perhaps it would be chaste, or Margot could purposefully lick Alana's mouth open with her tongue. 

A kiss, Alana thinks, futilely, might break the spell Margot is under. "I'm no longer your doctor, Margot," Alana says, smiling faintly. "What you do with your free will is hardly under my purview."

"Good. Good."


End file.
